


Any Other Punishment

by rawthorne (noisette)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Consent Issues, Control Issues, F/M, M/M, Misunderstandings, Multi, Threesome - F/M/M, non-con references without actual non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-02
Updated: 2012-08-02
Packaged: 2017-11-11 06:40:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/475666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noisette/pseuds/rawthorne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And when Derek asks why they killed him, they'll tell him -- <i>Jackson raped us</i> -- and nobody will miss him, nobody will be sorry he's gone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Any Other Punishment

Being theakanima is like walking a thin wire with no safety net underneath. Sometimes, things fall down. People, for example. Sometimes, Jackson will come back from an _episode_ and not know where he is or what he did the night before. He'll have blood on his hands and the scent of fresh, raw meat at the back of his mouth and he'll know with gut-wrenching certainty that he hurt someone. 

The best he can hope for is an animal, but it's been people, too. It was people for a long time, with Matt, with Gerard; that didn't change until Derek took his leash. Jackson's stomach still clenches when he thinks about belonging to anyone, but at least Derek keeps him in the loop. Jackson is not a weapon for the alpha -- he's part of the pack. A broken, dangerous, erratic part of the pack. On a good day, he even gets to feel like he's one of them and not worry about what the kanima might do. 

Today is not a good day. Jackson wakes in tangled sheets, headache radiating through his skull and knows immediately that he _did something._ The body on his left gives away the surprise and the one on his right, blond hair draped across a naked shoulder, confirms it. Jackson can see twin scars on their necks to complete the picture and his headache becomes a full-fledged, stomach-churning hangover. This is _his_ handiwork.

More importantly, he can tell both of his bedfellows are naked -- and so is he. 

Stumbling out of bed is a graceless, frantic struggle, but it's suddenly vital to quit the scene. Jackson misjudges the height of the mattress, slips and nearly bangs his chin on the carpet. This must be Erica's house, because Jackson has been to Isaac's before and he knows he never made it home last night. Whenever he turns, Derek likes to steer him far from his parents or his human friends, just in case there's to be collateral damage. Maybe he could've factored the goddamn pack into his precautions, but Derek, Jackson thinks for the umpteenth time, is a terrible alpha and no one in their right mind should be putting their faith in him. He has a good mind to rant at the werewolf until he goes blue in the face, only right now it's a lot more urgent to get his jeans on and recover his sneakers before the other two wake up and tear him apart. 

He'll call Lydia when he gets home. Hearing her yell at him is as good as any other form of punishment. 

"Mmm, Jackson?" Isaac shifts on the bed, rolling over to catch Jackson in a gold-flecked gaze. His hair is mussed and sticks out in ridiculous, corkscrew clumps, and Jackson can imagine running his fingers through it as he kisses Isaac's soft mouth; he's done it before, but not like this. Never like this. He's never been in a position to be more disgusted in himself -- or more afraid.

"I… I need to go." A better man would make amends, but Jackson doesn't have the guts to face Isaac and Erica both, least of all with the kanima still so close at hand. They'll rip him limb from limb before he can muster the strength to apologize. (As if sorry would cut it after what he's done.) And when Derek asks why they killed him, they'll tell him -- _Jackson raped us_ \-- and nobody will miss him, nobody will be sorry he's gone, not even his mother's fucking Chihuahua, because that goddamn creature _hates_ his guts-- 

Isaac is suddenly standing too close, too naked in front of Jackson, his broad, calloused palms stroking at Jackson's shoulders. Deep within, the kanima stirs with a reptilian quiver. "Jesus, you're gonna give yourself a panic attack… What's wrong? Did we -- you look like you've seen a ghost." 

The more Isaac looks and the more Jackson wants to hide. Under Isaac's arm rather than over it, he can make out movement on the bed: Erica waking up to the sound of his racing heartbeat. _Terrific._ That means he's trapped. That means there's nowhere for him to run to, no safe place because Isaac's scent is all around him and there's a slowly healing bite on his neck where Jackson must have misjudged his own strength last night and, God, they haven't healed yet, which means this is the damning evidence right here. The kanima's venom did this. Jackson's venom.

"I'm sorry," Isaac says, pulling back slowly. "Last night, you seemed to like it. I thought…" He glances back towards the bed and whatever he sees in Erica's hunched shoulders and smudged mascara tells him to retreat all the way. The absence of his scalding touch is even worse than its warm pressure.

Jackson wishes he didn't know how good, how kind Isaac can be, or how receptive to their needs; it's only making this worse because these two are not just any roofied lay he happens to regret. They're _pack_ and he betrayed them. Nausea hollows out his chest. "What did you think?" Jackson grits out, mortified to hear his voice break on the final word. His cheeks feel hot, the air in his lungs suddenly insufficient to smother all the stupid things he shouldn't be saying. And he's still standing there like an idiot, within punching distance of Isaac's superhuman strength, still holding one of his sneakers by the laces -- and now he can see Erica's face fall, as well, her hands rucking up the sheet a little higher as she tries to cover herself up. That's right; she remembers. She knows what he did. "Stop looking at me like that! Jesus, just do something already! You're not paralyzed anymore, are you? It wore off!"

His arms open wide in feeble invitation. "Come on, do it! What are you waiting for?"

Isaac actually flinches at the outburst and Jackson is forced to recall all the times he watched Mr. Lahey cuff him over the head, all the times he wished he'd been brave enough to interfere. _Don't cause a scene_ , his parents would say. _Don't disappoint us._ A bit late for that now. 

It's Erica who puts him out of his misery. "It… the venom wore off around midnight, Jackson." Her carefully sculpted brow tugs up in a quizzical arch. "Don't you remember? I asked you to bring us to my place and you did. You put us to bed."

"Yeah," Isaac echoes. "It was kinda nice, I mean… once you get over the scaly, cold-blooded thing, you should see what you can do with that forked tongue." He flushes a little, gaze slipping from Jackson's to seek out Erica's. 

She gives him a broad, knowing smile. _She_ knows what happened and she's far from angry. That's -- unexpected. 

Jackson balks. "I thought…" He thought he'd stung them and then done _things_ to them that they didn't want. He thought he forced them. It's a fear he keeps carefully bottled up, right next to the guilt he still hoards for killing all those people at Matt's command. Jackson feels his head swim, he almost thinks he might faint, but there's a strong shoulder to prop him up and Isaac's scent all around him, the other boy's lips nuzzling his temple. "I thought I hurt you," Jackson manages to whisper against a bruised collarbone. 

He feels the pressure of strong arms around his waist like an anchor or a chain: maybe both. Maybe that's what it means to be in a pack. Either way, escape is no more than a distant preoccupation, easily postponed.

"You broke _me_ a little," Erica teases as she sinks back into the sheets. "But I enjoyed it. Now come back to bed, moron."

Turns out Isaac isn't the only one who responds well to being told what to do. Between the two of them, he and Erica manage to get Jackson horizontal again, his shivers soon lost to the heat of two unnaturally warm bodies. "We don't have to do anything," Isaac murmurs. "And if you don't want to -- again, I mean… Erica and I, we'll never know what it's like, but you're still you when you turn. Just like we're still us on a full moon." He lays a soft kiss against Jackson's lips, retreating quickly. "We won't do it again when you're… you know."

Erica says nothing, but Jackson can read worry in the way she bites her lip, a leftover quirk of her former life. They mean it; he just has to say no. Clumsily, Jackson reaches up a hand to touch the scar on her nape. And just like that, he's given his answer.

Her chest pressing into his, Erica tackles Jackson to the mattress with a harsh, needy kiss. Fingers slip under the waistband of his jeans to curl around his soft cock and for a moment it's impossible to tell whose hand it is. Erica throws back her head as Isaac leaps forward to kiss her neck. It doesn't really matter.

Jackson forces himself to keep his eyes open. He missed this last night, the sweet, familiar play of yellow-gold eyes and sharp claws casting down his body; he wants to make it up to them. It's easy to imagine Erica's thighs spread open in his hands as he lapped at her until she quivered and came. Easier still to picture his clawed hand curled around Isaac's cock, carefully stroking him to his release. Isaac would've been so sweet and pliant. Erica would have urged him on like she does now, nipping at his lips with the sharp edge of flat, human teeth. 

A frisson of need courses through Jackson, not unlike venom through the bloodstream. "Show me," he begs, already on the cusp of a moan. 

"Lie back," Isaac urges, appropriating Erica's roguish grin for his own. "This time it's our turn."


End file.
